


In the pocket

by NovaNara



Category: Good Omens (TV), Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Drinking & Talking, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28637463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaNara/pseuds/NovaNara
Summary: Castiel finds himself in an unexpected place. They might not be Dean, but there's a bond with the people he meets there. Kind of.
Relationships: Aziraphale (Good Omens)/Crowley (Supernatural), Castiel/Dean Winchester, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	In the pocket

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chrwythyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrwythyn/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Duh. A.N. Happy birthday, Chrwythyn, love, and many happy returns! Since you didn't give me a prompt, and were in doubt about fandom, this is kind of a “what to expect for 2021” advert.Unless I get hooked on yet more fandoms in the meantime. Hope you  
> enjoy!

Expecting to disappear, absorbed into nothingness, and instead finding themselves into a bustling city is a jarring experience. If yours was a calculated move to save your beloved (and ultimately the world, but let's be honest, who's thinking about that when you have Dean Winchester to worry about – someone needs to take care of his reckless, self-sacrificing self), you might be forgiven if you feel ready to have a mental breakdown.   
Cas looked around, trying to make sense of recent events – and mostly worrying about how he could fix what went wrong. The last thing they needed was the Empty still holding a grudge. As if there weren't enough troubles at the moment.   
A pub at the corner, small and unassuming, whose sign announced “Oddfellows Arms”, was still emanating an odd aura, and the angel walked to it. Either he discovered something, or he got as drunk as he could manage. From what Dean taught him, if you were helpless to change your situation for the better, that was an acceptable option to deal with anything.   
As soon as he entered, at least something became clearer. The red-headed man in black, still wearing sunglasses despite the place not being all so bright, was undoubtedly a demon. And just as obviously, the man in the long coat next to him was just that – a man. Maybe that was why he was here. Things would fix themselves afterwards....if he was lucky (when was he ever?).   
He was at their side in two strides. “Whatever he's offering, don't accept,” he said to the man.   
“Hey!” The demon was...wagging a finger at him? Did he even realize that Cas could still smite him, just on principle?   
“First of all, I'm not offering anything. Fine, a round or twenty, but only when it's my turn. You wouldn't expect me to mooch, would ya? Second, there's only one angel that gets to thwart me, and you aren't him. Third...there should be a there, shouldn't there? Isn't that how these things go?”   
“Are you already drunk, Crowley?” the man sighed.   
“He's not Crowley,” Cas interjected. Even if the demon had managed to survive – it wouldn't surprise Castiel, at this point – he wouldn't get drunk while trying to strike a deal, or claim a preference for any angel. Crowley had...relations with way too many in heaven for it to be good for anyone, but surely no one he'd willingly let himself be thwarted by, to use the impostor's words.   
“Not your Crowley, sure.” The demon nodded sollemnly.   
“And this is not my London, or his, for all that matters – so, if you've been lead here, I suggest you take a seat and vent,” the man added.   
“What?”   
“Pocket dimension. I think. Or...something. I'm not exactly an expert in things outside the normal flow of time and space. But when things are bad, sometimes it'll appear...you can get in, drink your frustrations away, and when you leave, no time at all has gone by. If you're here, you need it. Thanks for the attempt to help, but it was superfluous. My soul isn't in danger. My name's Sherlock, by the way. And you are?”   
“Castiel.” It was all very odd, but – if this was indeed outside of the dimensions he knew, and he could go back without anyone noticing – whoever created this (did Chuck have any more siblings, by any chance?) had his thanks. He took a seat, as invited. Just to check that this Crowley, or demon, anyway, didn't actually snare Sherlock's soul.   
“So, boyfriend trouble?” Crowley asked – possibly to the table, since he slouched, his head resting on his arms.  
Still, Cas stiffened.   
“Obviously,” Sherlock said, looking at him. “I'll get next round.”   
Cas wanted to run away – or possibly attack the slithery bastard, his feelings still way too raw. But more in him wanted to understand, so he remained where he was, until he was handed a beer. That it was a pint, and not a bottle, caused an irrational stab of disappointment.   
“Not sure they'll let you go if you don't unload your troubles,” Sherlock warned. “But if you want to be brought up to speed: my stupid boyfriend still thinks he's not gay. Despite, you know, the fact that we're raising his child together. I swear, we could be married at this point and nobody would bat an eyelid. Fucking parents and fucking internalized homophobia. Oh, he'll see what every bloody one sees, but – so tired.”  
Cas didn't mean to laugh. Not to demean, certainly. But – maybe what attracted him wasn't the demon he needed to smite, after all. “Dean's not gay. Well, I don't think – humanity never made entirely sense, frankly. But – we do have a bond, and I've told him, and I've shown him, and – you'd think somewhere between raising him from perdition and adopting Lucifer's nephilim he would have figured things out. But nope. Had to tell him, even if it killed me – literally.”  
Sherlock's eyes shone with unshed tears, so Cas felt compelled to continue. “I don't regret it. I'm more worried about how he's going to fare during the apocalypse...again.”  
“Again?” Crowley perked up. “And you said you raised Satan's son...the right one, though, I bet.” He sighed.   
“The first was averted, and...well, we had a number of apocalypse-level trouble since. Not sure if this means Dean, his brother and I make a good team, or the worst one. But it's hard to foretell what may come. If we could, I wouldn't accidentally have caused a couple of them.”  
“Ugh. Then maybe I shouldn't ask how to stop this one. Tried coparenting the Antichrist, hoping it'd maybe turn out...not sure, actually. But it's not my fault the damn nuns couldn't even keep track of the right one. It's just – 6000 years, and my angel is still...too fast? I go too fast?”   
“That again?” Sherlock snapped.   
“It might have happened in 1967, but – what do you know. You don't have any idea of time. Come on, Castiel, you're an angel! Tell him!”  
“You'll hear this to the end of time. Or of this dimension, whichever comes earlier. If you're lucky, this willl be my only visit – otherwise? You'd hear me about Dean just as long.” Actually, getting drunk and whining about his lost love – or going back to nonexistence...both sounded kind of appealing. The main question was – would Dean ever find his way here?   
“No, but you'll find yours.” The waitress volunteering a new round and interjecting with his thoughts wasn't creepy. Not at all. There was no reason to gank her..not without listening first, anyway. “You'll all find your way, some sooner some later. They're idiots, but loving idiots – not just lovable idiots. Einstein was wrong , you know – human stupidity does have a limit. And you'll hit it. For now, drinks are on the house.”

**Author's Note:**

> This hit me and prompted the whole thing (image made by me, so that's why it's not the best)  
> 


End file.
